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CARBON PHOTO. ALLEN & ROWELL 





CHARLES THAYER LINCOLN 


A MEMORIAL 





CAMBRIDGE 
Printed at the Riversive Press 
1879 


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Born OcToBER 24, 1849. 





Drep June 14, 1879. 


MEMORIAL SKETCH. 





Tus little volume does not claim to be a biography, 
It is simply a tribute of love and esteem to the memory 
of a pure and noble young man, — the gathering intoa 
more compact cluster some of the many flowers that 
have been strewn upon his grave, under a sense of inex- 
pressible sorrow and great personal loss. They tell their 
own sad story. And through them we catch some few 
glimpses of the life of their endeared and lamented sub- 
ject. But it is thought that these testimonials would be 
better understood by the general reader, whose eye might 
fall upon these pages, and perhaps be more highly prized 
by the intimate friends of the vanished one, if seen in 
the light of some few of the leading facts in the career 
of him to whose sweetness of spirit and beauty of char- 
acter they bear such cordial and touching witness. For 
these reasons, a brief memorial sketch is prefixed, more 
as a setting for these pictures that kind and loving hearts 


6 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


have drawn than as a complete history of a cen life a ss 
suddenly quenched in the brightness of its promise, ee 

Charles Thayer Lincoln was born October 24, 1849, os 
in the pleasant village of West Townsend, Mass. He ie 
was the second son of Varnum and Emeline Sprague 


Lincoln. His father being a clergyman, his early home 
life was subject to those changes of locality incident 
to such a profession. Removing from West Townsend 
when quite young, he spent portions of his boyhood days 
in Andover, Abington, and Yarmouth, in the State of 
his birth. In all these places he is still remembered as _ 
the amiable, blue-eyed boy whose kind spirit and ani- 
mated features gave promise of a useful future. His 
sunny disposition and love of fair play made him a gen- 
eral favorite with the boys and girls of his age, while his — 
good behavior and gentle ways won the notice and eye 
of older people. | 
His attendance at school began at the early age of eine 
years. The best schools in the different towns where 
his parents lived furnished all the educational advan-— 
tages of a public nature which it was his privilege to en- 
joy. Of these he made the most diligent use. With his 
natural love of books, persistence of purpose, and aptness 
to learn, he had mastered in a few years all the branches 
of a sound English education, and laid the foundation of — 





MEMORIAL SKETCH. 7 


an honorable business life. Many were the prizes and 
rewards of merit which he received from his teachers 
for exemplary conduct and mental victories, achieved, 
oftentimes, over members of his class much older than 
himself. These he sacredly kept as choice mementos of 
his school-boy days. His means for the acquisition of 
knowledge were not, however, wholly confined to the 
school-room. From his parents at home he always found 
encouragement and aid. Around the evening lamp use- 
ful books were read, and puzzling questions in mathe- 
matics and other studies solved. Nor did his love and 
pursuit of knowledge cease with the close of his school 
privileges. One of the peculiar qualities of his mind 
was the disposition to acquaint himself thoroughly with 
a subject which had once enlisted his attention. And 
in subsequent life, absorbed by the cares of business, for- 
getting no moral or social duty, there were few questions 
of public interest with which he was not familiar, or 
which he could not intelligently discuss. His mind, 
clear and comprehensive, seemed to grasp a subject 
without especial effort, and every year revealed more 
of its native power in this direction. 

In the fourteenth year of his age he entered the em- 
ploy of Hon. James B. Crocker, a trader, in the immedi- 
ate vicinity of his home. Here he remained three years, 


8 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


giving the best satisfaction to his employer, gaining a 
knowledge of and showing an evident taste and capacity 


for mercantile pursuits. Leaving the store, he again en- 


tered the High School in Yarmouth. But his mind was — 
turned in the direction of a practical business life. The 


three years’ service with Captain Crocker had moulded — ‘AS 


his inclinations and determined his course for the future. 
In the spring of 1866, when in the seventeenth year of 
his age, gaining the consent of his parents, he decided 
to seek a position in some store in Boston. Opportuni- 
ties of this kind were rare, especially for young men who 
were almost entire strangers in a large city. But trust- 
ing to his own hopeful spirit and personal energy, he felt 
confident of success. So one bright morning, with a 
cheerful good-by, he left for the first time his old home, 
to seek his fortune in a city where he was almost wholly 
unknown. His parents had seen him go with feelings 
of sadness, and awaited the result with no small anxiety. 
In a few days their anxiety was dispelled by a letter 
from Charles, written in his happiest mood, announcing © 
success. He had answered an advertisement from the 
firm of Glazier, Marean & Co., merchants on Summer 
Street, wanting an entry clerk. He remained with this 
firm about eleven years ; serving chiefly in the capacity | 





of a traveling salesman, and growing constantly in their 





MEMORIAL SKETCH. , 9 


confidence and esteem. The most wide-awake and ener- 
getic young men are selected for this work. It is a po- 


-sition of no small responsibility, and often attended with 


discouragements. It has, also, its peculiar temptations. 
The charms of the familiar circle and the comforts of 
the old fireside are exchanged for the uncertain society 
and rough usages of car and hotel life. Such experience 
had Charles, during ten years, which he spent in the 
employ of this firm. And he put into his work all the 
enthusiasm of his young and ambitious spirit. A desire 
to prove worthy of his trust and to build up a reputa- 
tion for himself stimulated him to toil early and late, and 
sometimes beyond his health and strength. Wherever 
he went, his genial manners and upright dealing won 
for him many new and always lasting friends. It was 
during these years that he indulged more than usual in 
letter-writing. Away from home and intimate friends, 


he sought to relieve the lonesomeness of his situation by 


communicating his thoughts to spirits like his own, and 
by describing the scenes and experiences through which 
he had passed. His moral convictions were so firmly 
based on the rock of principle that it came easy for him 
to resist the evil enticements often incident to the life of 
a salesman. Once, when referring to this subject, he 


said “he had no difficulty in resisting any temptation to 
2 





IO MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


depart from the right which professed friends, in their — 
mistaken kindness, might place before him. All he had 
to do was to say ‘Vo, in a mild but decided tone, and 
there the matter ended.” | ; 

About two years after he had taken up his residence 
in Boston, he joined the Young Men’s Christian Union. 
From this institution he derived, in various ways, great 
practical benefit. It brought him in contact with young 
men of his own age, tastes, and pursuits. And the 
friendships which he here formed with the officers and 
members were among the most pleasant and valuable of 
his life, and which the lapse of time never diminished. 
He often acknowledged his indebtedness to this noble 
enterprise for the many blessings and salutary influences 
derived from it, and expressed his gratitude and strong- 
est desire for*its prosperity by becoming one of its life 
members. 

On October 18, 1876, he was happily united in mar- 
riage with Miss Lena Simmons Church, the only daugh- 
ter of Francis T. and Helena A. Church, of Boston. 
After this event their home became his. All shared to- 
gether the gladness of the union, and dreamed of many 
coming years of happiness and peace. Two promising 
boys—— Francis Church and Charles Thayer — were a“ 
fruit of this marriage. 





MEMORIAL SKETCH. II 


In the beginning of the year 1877, Mr. Lincoln as- 
sisted in the organization and became a member of a 
firm under the title of “Saranac Buck Glove Company 
of Littleton, N. H.” He was also employed as agent 
for selling the goods. He entered upon his work with 
all his natural hopefulness and energy, visiting the prin 
cipal cities of the East and of the distant West, meet 
ing with remarkable success and encouragement, form- 
ing many new and pleasant acquaintances with mer- 
chants and gentlemen in different parts of the country. 
He had introduced the goods of the company into many 
new and important localities, which gave impetus to a 
large and prosperous trade. At the end of two years, 
the business had increased to such an extent that larger 
facilities were needed for manufacturing purposes. For- 
tunately there stood in the neighborhood, 6n the banks 
of the Ammonoosuc, a large woolen factory, with abun- 
dant water-power, together with saw-mill, shops, dwell- 
ing-houses, etc. This valuable property was purchased 
by Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Ira Parker, senior member of 
the firm. After extensive improvements, the business 
was transferred to these more spacious quarters, with 
the most flattering prospects of unlimited growth and 
success. A writer in one of the local papers, who had 
personally looked over the ground, says: “Taken alto- 


~ 


42 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


gether, the Saranac Glove and Mitten Company has suc- 
ceeded in establishing itself as one of the leading in- 
dustries of the country, and deservedly holds the fore- 
most position, amongst glove manufacturers, for the spe- 
cialty to which it is devoted.” 

The spring of 1879 was, with Mr. Lincoln, a season 
of peculiar joy and pride. He was in his thirtieth year 7 
in the enjoyment of excellent health and spirits; be- 
loved by a host of friends ; having a home where clus- 
tered his warmest affections, made now doubly precious 
by the presence of a beautiful boy ; occupying a position 
in business of the most hopeful character; and, to all - 
human view, there were reaching out before him long 
years of usefulness and prosperity. But, alas, how often 
is human wisdom baffled and the most glowing visions 
darkened by the fated uncertainty which clings to all 
earthly things! Suddenly, and long before this worthy 
and promising life had attained the noonday of its bright- . 
ness, it was strangely eclipsed by the passing shadow of 


~ death. % oe 


We care not to dwell upon the melancholy details of 
the accident that terminated the earthly career of this 


true and sterling young man. A few words in regard 


to it will answer the requirements of this sketch. Mr. 
Lincoln, in company with his wife and boy, was making 





Rempel ey 





MEMORIAL SKETCH. 13 


a brief visit to her relatives and friends, who reside in 
Little Compton, R. I., in the near vicinity of the ocean. 


On the morning of June 14th, with a companion about 


seventeen years of age, he started off, with fishing dress 
and gear, to fish from a point of rocks at not a great 
distance from the house where they were stopping. After 
reaching the rocks they unfortunately separated, out of 
sight and hearing of each other. Some time expired, 
when the boy, weary of fishing alone, went in search of 
Mr. Lincoln. To his amazement, he at last found him 
struggling in the water, and almost exhausted. The boy, 
approaching and speaking, seemed to impart to him some 
hope, and he told the youth to throw him his fish-line, 
which he did. Mr. Lincoln, winding it about his arm, 
requested him to pull upon it carefully. But the waves 
of the sea, proving too strong for the line, snapped it 
asunder, leaving the poor man again to their unpitying 


force. The boy then urged him to try and keep up a 


little longer, and he would run for help. The sad reply 
was, “I cannot hold out so long; I have been in here 
already half an hour.” The boy, however, started for 
help, as the best thing he could do. As he turned to 
go, the last words he heard Mr. Lincoln say were, “ /¢ 
ts all done—all done!” Neighbors and friends soon 
rallied, but, alas, too late. The body was recovered in 


14 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


about three hours, but all efforts to restore life were 

fruitless. This distressing termination of a life so young 

and noble will always remain, to some extent, shrouded 

in mystery. Mr. Lincoln was an excellent swimmer, 

and the wonder is that he did not swim to the shore in — 
another direction, and thus escape a watery grave. The 

most rational conclusion, however, which all the circum- 
stances seem to corroborate, is that he received some 

bodily injury in slipping from the rocks, which disabled 

him beyond the power to recover himself. 

The funeral services were held on June 17th, at his 
home in Boston, conducted by his warm friend and pas- 
tor, Rev. Minot J. Savage. It was truly a house of 
mourning, — an occasion of the most profound grief. 
Among the large assembly gathered there were his be- 
loved family, kindred, partners in business, officers and 
members of the Christian Union, old friends, customers, 
and others. Many brought rich and beautiful floral _ 
gifts, tokens of their love and esteem. All were express- — 
ive, but the most touching were from his Sunday-school 
class, and from the male and female help of the glove 
factory in Littleton. One sentiment filled the hearts of — 
all present, —a sense of unspeakable grief; the solemn 
and painful conviction that a tenderly endeared one had | 
gone, but yet with the sweet comfort that heaven had 





Spee es 
. ses ‘ a * 


PUBL as ne, 





MEMORIAL SKETCH. 15 


only received its own, and that, bearing in their hearts 


the image of his radiant character, they would them- 
selves be all the more prepared for the heavenly life. 
His manly and mortal form was borne in sadness to the 
beautiful cemetery of Forest Hills. And there, in a 
spot such as he himself would have chosen, it rests. 
Over it bend gently the branches of a maple, where the 
summer birds will come and sing, and where the autumn 
leaves will fall to shield it from the winter’s storm. 
Near by glimmer the waters of the lakelet Hibiscus. 
In the distarice stand the Blue Hills, like mighty senti- 
nels, to guard and keep it forever. Long will it be sa- 
cred to those who knew and loved him. Often will they 
go there to scatter over it sweet flowers, and to revive 
hallowed memories of what he was to them, in all the 
sweet bonds of friendship and the tender relations of life. 

There is danger, perhaps, that parental affection may 


be tempted to praise, in undue terms, the virtues of a 


dearly beloved son. We confess to no such desire or in- 
clination. Our feelings already far outrun our pen. And 
were the portrait complete, we should be happily content 
with the words written by kinds friends in the following 
pages. But some few features in the character of Mr. 
Lincoln may, we think, be more fully unfolded as a mat- 
ter of strict justice, and with interest to his many friends. 





16 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


That his life was perfectly faultless would be folly to — 
affirm. But this, we believe, we can say with strong as- 
surance, that it would be difficult for any one to tell what 
those faults were. He was sincerely conscientious in 
the discharge of every moral and social duty, even the 
smallest. A lofty sense of right, a strict regard to 
principle, was his governing motive. In all business af- 
fairs he was scrupulously just and honorable, the soul 
of truth and integrity. And this, combined with his af- 
fable manners, was the secret of his success. His social 
nature was warm and confiding, full of generous im- 
pulses and affectionate instincts, yet he was always care- 
ful in the selection of his intimate friends. But when 
once chosen, he gave them his whole heart. He was 
known and addressed, by all his acquaintance by the 
favorite name of “Charlie.” And in writing to them 
he often signed himself, “Your Charlie.” Habitually 
cheerful, he carried sunshine wherever he went. His 
kind and radiant face was a true index to the generous 
and hopeful feelings that constantly dwelt in his bosom. 
He never forgot his old home, and the associations of — 
early years which clustered there, even when new ties 
and new attractions drew his affections elsewhere. There 
was not a single touch of selfishness about him. He 
was always the happiest when making others happy. He 





EP A EDR LIPS 





MEMORIAL SKETCH. 17 


was ever ready to sacrifice even his own comfort and 
convenience to the enjoyment of others. Christmas 
was, particularly, a season that he loved better than all 
others, because it was a time devoted by custom for the 
bestowment of gifts. “The more he gave,” he said, 
“the happier he was.” “Money,” he said, “was good 
only for the good one could do with it.” And he often 


took pleasure in surprising his friends with projects of 


his kindness and generosity. Little children were espe- 
cially the objects of his notice and love. Wherever he 
found them he at once had them in his arms or on his 
knees, sharing their frolics, and adding his part to their 
innocent joys. And this love was warmly reciprocated 
by every child who knew him. None will miss “their 
Charlie” more than these little ones, into whose hearts 
his kindness had so surely won its way. 

By nature, as well as by education, Mr. Lincoln was 
deeply and sincerely religious. His faith and trust in 
God were complete and unbounded. He loved every 
good and holy cause, and sought by his example and 
influence to strengthen and perpetuate the institutions 
and spirit of pure and undefiled religion. The belief 
into which he was born and educated was that of an In- 
finitely Righteous and Loving Father, whose presence 
pervaded and whose wisdom and power guided and con- 


18 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 


trolled all things, both in the moral and physical universe, 
making all events, trials, and shadows subservient, at 
last, to one grand result, the discipline, development, and 
happiness of his intelligent creation. This was the polar — 
star of his religious faith, around which all lesser lights — 
revolved, — the ground of his perfect trust and peace. 
His own spirit and life were the blossom and fruit of 
this strong confidence in the presence and supremacy of 
the Infinite power and love. On minor points, his views 
experienced some change, as new light came into his 
mind. And while he often differed from his best friends 
on religious questions, they were none the less his 
friends than those who shared his opinions. Still, the 
vital matter with him was the daily life, the spirit of 
love and charity and justice, illustrated in the practical 
duties of mankind, to themselves, to society, and to God. 

Clearly allied to these deep religious feelings was an 
ardent love of nature. Mountain scenery filled him with 
raptures, and all forms of outward sublimity and beauty, 
seen in oceans or stars, clouds or sunlight, found in 
him a devout worshiper. Not less ardent was his love 
of the grand and beautiful in art. Art galleries and pict- 
ure stores were always places of strong attraction to 
him. “He never felt the want of money so much,” he 
said, “as when in the presence of beautiful paintings.” 








MEMORIAL SKETCH. I9 


Then these forms of grandeur and loveliness, in the 
world of nature and art, served for him a higher purpose 
than the mere gratification of the outward eye. They 


_ were agencies which touched the finer senses, awakened 


the spiritual instincts of the soul, and gave wings to re- 
ligious aspiration and adoration. Under their influence 
his heart warmed in praise towards the Author of all 
order and beauty. 

But after all that can or may be said, there is no bet- 
ter evidence of the noble qualities of character possessed 
by Mr. Lincoln than was seen in the deep hold which 
he had upon the hearts of those who had formed his ac- 
quaintance, and in the painful shock given their minds 


_ by his death. Since that sad event, numerous letters 


have been received, by his business partners, his be- 
reaved widow, his parents, and others, — letters from all 
parts of the country where he was known, deploring his 
loss as a severe private grief and a great public calamity. 
They are all written in lines of touching sadness, and 
mingle their sorrows in common with the hearts that 
most deeply bleed. While but few of these letters ac- 
company this volume, all the writers are assured that 
the kind and sympathetic spirit which dictated them 
is most gratefully appreciated by his nearer family and 
kindred. It is a great comfort, when the forms of the 





20 MEMORIAL SKETCH. 





beloved vanish from our sight, to know that their aa ‘ 
ual presence still lives, as an abiding reality and a divine 
power, in the hearts of those who knew them. Thus 
are the righteous held in everlasting remembrance. 


| “We would not call thee thence, — 

We would not, bright one, though a dimness lieth 
Along those pathways where thy smile hath shone ; 

For thou art now where beauty never dieth, _ 
And shadows on the heart are never strewn. 

Not all of thee, sweet soul, from earth hath perished, 
Our hearts Still keep thee, still they love thee well ; 

There are thy deeds and gentle teachings cherished, 
There shall the memory of thy goodness dwell, — 

For good thou wert, and ¢rwe.” } 





ee 


GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 





PROVINCETOWN, December 25, 1870. 


OF all the days in the year, this always seemed to me 
to be the most blessed and joyous. But, somehow, this 
time I have not felt or realized that Christmas was here, 
nor have I entered into the spirit of the day in the least. 
And I have made up my mind, firmly, that it is the last 
Christmas I shall spend away from home and old friends. 
How many times I have wished myself with you, you 


‘know as well as I. 


I have enjoyed making presents this year more than 
ever before. The reason, I suppose, is because I have 
given more than usual. 


LANCASTER, N. H., SunDAY, March 5, 1871. 
It is one of those beautiful days with which we are 
occasionally blessed in the early spring. .And I have 


22 GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. | 


had Bryant in my head all day ; for it must have been on 
just such a day that he wrote of March, — 
“‘ And in the reign of blast and storm 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 


When the changed winds are soft and warm, 
And heaven puts on the blue of May.” 


And I have been thinking of you and other friends all 
day, and wishing myself in Boston with you so much 
that I’ve wondered if I was nota little homesick. But 
I am passing the day pleasantly and profitably in at- 
tending meetings, reading, etc. | 

We enjoyed a lovely sunset view from the car windows 
last evening, which sent me into dreamland fora while, 
as all bright visions usually do. And this morning I was 
up early, to see the sun rise over the White Mountains, 
and was well rewarded for my trouble, as there were 
great masses of cloud below the summit of the mount- 
ains, while the tops were entirely free from them, so that 
the sunlight struck the under surface of the-clouds first, 
leaving the tops black and dreary-looking in the shadow. 
But it was not long before the order was reversed, and 
the mountain summits were bathed in the sunlight, and 
the clouds, before so bright, wore almost a funereal gloom. 
“Thus it is ever on this earth.” © 








GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 23 


WHITEFIELD TO LANCASTER, June 18, 1871. 7.30 P. M. 


Such a ride! Showers had been passing over all day, 


-and everything was looking bright and fresh, there hav- | 


ing been no drought here. The air was just cool enough 
to be invigorating, and the horses, catching some of the 
spirit of the scene, bowled away at a three-minute gait ; 
it being almost impossible to check them in some of the 
descents we made. About half of our trip had been fin- 
ished without anything happening worthy of particular 
notice, when we observed a heavy shower moving swiftly 
towards us up the Connecticut valley ; and we had hardly 
prepared ourselves to meet it before it was on us, —a 
hard, driving, pelting rain, lasting only a few minutes, 
when the sun came out wondrously bright. There must 
be a rainbow, surely ! | 

Throwing the top of our buggy back, we beheld as 
beautiful a scene as mortals ever witnessed. The 
shower had passed on towards the White Mountains, 
and through the rain we could just discern their outlines ; 
and spanning them was a double rainbow, the colors in 
the smaller one being so bright as to be dazzling, both 
rainbows being wonderfully brilliant. 

We stopped our horses and drank in the glorious 
scene, hardly daring to speak, lest we should drive it 
away. And all I could say could not begin to describe 


24 GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 


that magnificent, almost marvelous sight, which has | 
done more for me than a thousand sermons or admoni- 
tions ever could, and which brought me out of a sorrow 
which I had tried almost in vain to repress, —shallIsay 
better, or only more willing to abide by God’s perfect law? — 
Enough that He guideth all our ways, and doeth all for 
then best.ceok eats The world is full of disappointments, 
and we all have our trials, my own being very ee 

when compared with many others. 


| GorHAM, Mz., SuNDAY, ly 9, 1871. 

Ihave just been reading the papers you sent me, as 
they were not received here until midnight, or one mail 
behind your letter. And now, instead of attending either 
place of worship, as, in all probability, I should only re- 
bel against the ideas that would be advanced, I sit at my 
open window, watching the clouds drifting about the 
mountains, with the sunlight streaming through, here and 
there; though-only for an instant, still long enough to 
show us a brilliant green where before was only inky 
blackness, and which again immediately claims its su- 
premacy. At the breakfast table, every one was com- — 
plaining because the weather looked so threatening ; but 
for myself, I enjoy the mountain scenery more on such a 
day and immediately after a shower than at any other — 








GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 25 


time, and especially more than when a bright sun, with- 
out a single cloud in the heaven, gives no relief to the 
monotonous scene. Would that I could answer your 
letter as it should be answered, and that I might wipe 
away all your tears; but yours is a struggle which can 
only be fought out alone. And you will, without doubt, 
come out of it fully trusting Him “in whom we live, 
move, and have our being,” and ever after look back and 
wonder how you ever could have thought as you now do. 
Read Psalms xxxiv. and xxxvil. You tell me to rest, 
and I would gladly do so if I could, for I feel the need 
of it. But I must do some hard work in the next two 
weeks, and then I can recuperate. 


CAMPTON VILLAGE, N. H., August 3, 1871. * 

We took saddle horses for a trip up Mt. Lafayette, 
and of all the views that was most magnificent, the con- 
ditions being perfect. We started in the clouds, but 
after going up about two miles we found that we were 
getting out of them, and should soon be above them. 
And when about a mile from the summit we had a view 
such as we shall, in all probability, never get again. 
The clouds had risen out of the Pemigewasset valley, 
which was green and beautiful, miles below us ; while in 
the other direction, filling the whole valley, was a sea of 

4 





26 GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 


clouds, white as snow, and as beautiful as anything could — ES ; 
be. Beyond the clouds, in the north and west, rose the 


tops of mountains in Vermont and Canada. Moose-hill- 


ock rose out of another sea of clouds, in the southwest. 
The only perfectly clear view was in a southerly direc- 


tion. Overhead were other strata of clouds, scattered — 
through the heavens, but not breaking in the least the 
glorious sunlight streaming down upon us. But I must 
close here just now, and leave the rest for another letter. 
We go up Black Mountain to camp over night. 


BETHEL, MzE., SUNDAY, October I ae Cif ae 


If ever I spent a lonesome day this is one of the worst. 
Why I should feel homesick to-day, any more than on 
numerous other Sundays, I cannot conceive, and I doubt 
if it would help me in the least if I knew all the whys — 
and wherefores. Enough to know that “ whatever is is 
Tightew2 4,4. .s 


ANDROSCOGGIN R. R., October 18, 1871. 


Many, many thanks for your noble letter, which I re- 
ceived last night. And, as L. says, it did me “heaps” of 
good, though it came near finding me ina miserable con- 
dition, which to any less fortunate person might have 





GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. ey: 


proved fatal. [Thrown from a wagon and badly hurt.] 

Bas. Can I ever thank God enough, for sparing my life, 
or for saving me from a fate worse to me than death, — 
the burden of living with a scarred and disfigured face! 
Thus again has God been merciful to me who deserve 
nothing. 


S Union, N. H., October 20; 1871. 


As truly as I believe there is a God, who ruleth over 
all his works, just as firmly do I believe that what He 
Milets.best..... 


MEREDITH VILLAGE, SUNDAY, October 23, 1871. 


-To-morrow I shall be twenty-one,— so old! And to- 
day I have been spending nearly all my time up on the 
hills, commanding glorious views, thinking how pleas-_ 
antly I am situated, and how very many reasons I have 
to thank God for my whole life, wondering if the next 
twenty-one years will bring me even a tithe of the hap- 
piness I have already enjoyed. | 

Do you know, I cannot help feeling that very few ar- 
rive at their majority with brighter prospects, and above 
all with better and firmer. friends, than myself, though 
there may be a few things I might wish different. Take 
them as a whole, they are best, and I am content. 








28 GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 


How many times during the day have I wished my- _ 
self with you for a few minutes, if only to take your 
hand and feel that I am near you! At half past three, ‘ 
I thought of you with your class, and wondered if you a 
were still talking of heaven; if so, whether they have mS | 
advanced any new ideas..... | 


LITTLETON, N. H., SUNDAY, VVovember 6, 187 , 

But for one thing I should be in the best of spirits ; 
and I am looking for your letter to-morrow night, which 
I hope will dispel all clouds. I cannot, will not, believe 
that the worst can be for you, while I have nothing but — 
blessings and a bright and glorious future. Oh that I 
might share your burdens, and that this seeming ill — 
might result, as all evils seem to for me, in a wonderful — a 
blessing, — that it should prove true in your case that 
“out of the eater came forth meat”! But I will be pa- 
tient, and wait the result, praying to God daily, “If it be 
thy will, O Father, let this cup pass from meds eae 
Just twelve o'clock, and I see you all in the church, 
directly after the sermon. Wonder if any one missed 
me! Neath 
LisBon, N. H., Movember 28, 1871. 

To-day is Thanksgiving Day, and I wish that it came 
to all with as much to be thankful for as I have. Surely, 








GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 29 


God has blessed me wonderfully in everything, and 
hardly a prayer of mine but that He has answered. 
Though, perhaps, not always as I prayed, yet always ac- 
cording to his wondrous love and tender mercies. ... . 


Surely, goodness and mercy have followed me all the 
days of my life. 


SouTH Paris, ME., December 31, 1871. 


I have n’t been out this morning, but have been pass- 
ing the hours with myself, taking a glance backward 
over the past year, and, with the aid of my diary, re- 
calling the many happy hours which have been scattered 
throughout its whole length. Am I satisfied with my 
life during the past year? No; for though in some 
respects I have exceeded my highest mark, yet, taken as 
a whole, it is far from what I wish that it had been. 
But, with God’s help, another year will see me a long 
step in advance of my present condition, in many re- 
Bpects. . . 4: Who can say what the coming year has 
in store for us, —what of sorrow or of joy, of pain or 
pleasure? ‘That it will abound in blessings, I am confi- 
dent. But how many times we fail to recognize any- 
thing but evil in many things that God in his infinite 
goodness places before us. When looking at it rightly, 
as we do afterwards, we can see that through the dark- 


30 GLEANINGS FROM LET. TERS. 


ness we have advanced to a nobler sphere, and been ss 
drawn one step nearer the Eternal. ae: 

Since reading those articles in the “ Journal” regard- 
ing Mr. H , |’ve been thinking very much about the 
dogma to which he has been converted. I know many 
will condemn him, and you will be only the more con- 
vinced of his insincerity. But I look at it differently; 
and he is more of a man to me now than ever before. 
For what has he gained by his change? Only the con- 
sciousness that he has done right. Besides, he has lost 
the respect and love of many of his friends, and of the 
great body of the public, whose confidence in him has 
not been tried. 

Regarding the divinity of Christ, I have often had se- 
rious doubts as to the correctness of the Unitarian belief 
in that particular, founded on many passages of the 
Bible. L.’s favorite chapter isan example. And though 
I am not convinced that Christ was coeval with God, 
still I believe he had been with God, and was himself 
conscious of a preéxistence. Have you heard any of his 
Boston friends say anything about it? . . . . Oh, I forgot 
to tell you a little incident that happened to me yester- — 
day afternoon in Bethel. I was in a store, sitting at the 
stove talking, when two little girls came in, one a very | 
beautiful little thing about five years old. As usual, I 














GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 31 


took her on my knee and scraped an acquaintance. After 
staying a few minutes, she went away, and I scarcely ~ 
gave her another thought, until I went to the depot, 
when she came running to me, and in reply to my “ Hal- 


”) 


lo,” she turned her face up to mine, and in the prettiest 
tones said, ‘I love you. Please kiss me once before you 
go.” I took her in my arms, and, as our lips met, my 
heart went out to God in thankfulness for sending such 


a messenger to me in such a way. 


Dover, N. H., Fanuary 14, 1872. 


I hardly know what to say about the affair you have 
so close at heart. But first I will say that from your 
stand-point you have not done wrong, surely; and, as 
- you and I differ in our opinions regarding the signifi- 
cance of the Communion Service, why should I say any- 
thing but that you ask it? That your class has been 
greatly benefited by your teaching, and that you, better 
than any other, will continue to show them how to live 
noble lives, no one knowing you as well as I do can 
doubt. Or, if you have been anxious to bring your schol- 
ars too quickly to your own high standard, and thought 
them there before they could begin to realize your position, 
it does not follow that you have committed a grave of- 
fense, or one which should cause you the least anxiety. 





32 GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 


You already know my feelings on the subject, and thatit 


is one of my firmly rooted convictions, which receiveda  — 


shock New Year’s Day [allusion to the sermon], but to 
which I still adhere. But there, I shall be with you to- 
morrow night, and will talk it over. Till then, good-by. 


FARMINGTON, ME., August 4, 1872. 

I am glad you like “ Wilfrid Cumbermede,” for I have 
been afraid that our literary tastes were very far apart, 
as lately we have hardly found a book that we could 
agree upon. | 

November 30, 1871. 

I said I was lonesome. I meant it. But over and 
above all my restlessness has been a quiet, still joy; 
and my heart has been running out to God, the Giver of 
all good and perfect gifts, for his manifold blessings. 
For I know now that when the time comes He will 
give me all; yes, more than I shall ask. And in the 
end “there is room for us all there, if we only seek it.” 


September 18, 1872. 

Yes, let in all the sunlight you can, for it doesn’t do 

a person one bit of good to be gloomy, — though some 

seem to think so. I believe we are here to be as happy 
as we can, and to help others to the same good, 








he ae te 


GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 33 


September 9, 1873. 
That evening I made a very pleasant call on Mr. 
R ; then went back and finished the “ Hoosier 
Schoolmaster.” It is just capital in its descriptions of 
Western life, and pleased me “lots.” 





November 18, 1873. 
You ask me how I define the difference between the 
mind and soul. I don’t think I can tell you just how I 
feel, but it seems to me that a person may have either 


one, without very much of the other,—that from the 


first we have a soul, but that the mind is the result of 


our education and training. 
. December 3, 1873. 


You have had a different school from myself, always 
having every wish realized, even before expressed, almost. 
And I, taught from the first that I must fight my own 
battles in this world, and that no other could fight them 
for me, and that the victory would be mine alone, if I 
won. You can see how such a thought would rouse me, 
make me ambitious to succeed, and would make me joy- 
ful over every success, no matter how small. 


December 21, 1873. 
With regard to business, I think a woman should 
know all her husband’s affairs. Yes, I think she ought 
| At 


34 - GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 


to know them even before she is a wife And Ido 
think a woman very often will strike at the heart of a 
business perplexity, and by so doing make things easy , 
that seemed so difficult..... I have always felt that — 
the very cause of the extravagance of many women who 
marry is that they know absolutely nothing about their a 
husbands’ business. And the husband does not like to 
tell the wife that she cannot have everything she wants ; 
not thinking, I am sure, that a true wife would be all the 
happier in denying herself some things, if she felt that 
by so doing she was making the way clearer for him. 
.... Arriving here, I found that one of my customers 
had just hung himself. His body was still warm. Rum 
the cause. Oh, heavens! if I could only make every one 
feel as I do about drinking ! 3 
: December 18, £873. 
Do you remember that road from Lisbon to the gold 
mines? If you do, you remember how lovely it ison 
an ordinary day. Imagine, if you can, the same scen- - 
ery with the earth completely covered with snow, and 
everything beautifully shrouded in feathery frost ; trees, 
shrubs, rocks, and even the snow itself made lovelier 
than ever. The morning had been one of those, not un- 
common in this section, when a sort of frost cloud set- 
tles down and wraps everything in its lovely mantle. _ 








GLEANINGS FROM LETTERS. 35 


March 2, 1874. 

I wonder if you are feeling as happy in this bright 
sunshine and clear, glorious air as I am; for it is just 
as lovely as it can be, and it would seem that such a day 
would send a thrill of comfort and joy to every true 
heart. For myself, I am real happy in living mere phys- 
ical existence on such a day as this. And when IJ think 
of the many, many good gifts that I have in addition, it 
does seem that I could not be thankful enough for them 
all. 

April 3, 1874. 

I do not look forward to a life of ease, do not seek it, 
do not want it, shall not take it; but shall work while 
the day lasts, for the night cometh... . . And I hope 
to win a position where my whole life shall not be en- 
grossed in business, where I shall be in a condition not 
to worry over monetary matters, that fret and worry one 
‘so. I want to be rich, I own; but not for riches’ sake, 
but because there are so many things one can do with . 
money, — so many ways that one can use riches to do 
good incalculable. But riches do not come without 
work, — without hard, patient, persevering labor. And 
such I mean to do as a worthy means to a worthy end. 





FUNERAL SERVICES. 















Tue funeral services occurred at the family residence, — i 
665 Tremont Street, Boston, on Tuesday, June 17th,and 
were conducted by his pastor, Rev. Minot J. Savage. 


SCRIPTURE LESSON. 


Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of 
trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; 
he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not. For whatis 
your life? Itis even as a vapor, that appeareth for a little : ic 
time, and then vanisheth away. . 

The days of our years are threescore years and ten ; and — 
if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is het 
strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, apd Wis seh 
away. ze 

Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my Con 
days, what it is; that I may know how frail Iam. Behold, 
thou hast made my days as an hand-breath, and mine age ig bs 
as nothing before thee. 





FUNERAL SERVICES. 37 


Thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth. I 
am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers 
were. 

Precious, in the sight of the Lord, is the death of his 
saints. | 

The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be 
the name of the Lord. 

When thou art in tribulation, if thou turn to the Lord thy 
God, and shall be obedient unto his will, He will not forsake 
thee. | 

The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the 
everlasting arms. 

The Lord will not cast off forever; but though He cause 
grief, yet will He have compassion, according to the multitude 
of his mercies. For He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve 
the children of man. 

Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not 
receive evil ? 

If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with 
sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not ? 

Though Jesus were a son, yet learned He obedience by the 
things which He suffered. ; 

Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, 
but grievous ; nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peacea- 
ble fruit of righteousness unto them that are exercised 
thereby. 


















38 FUNERAL SERVICES. 


For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man 
perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. For our a 
light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us ai 
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we x 
look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which 
are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporal ; 
but the things which are not seen are eternal. 

Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the 
spirit shall return unto God, who gave it. 

For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle 
were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not _ 
made with hands, eternal in the heavens. | | 

But as touching the resurrection of the dead, have ye not — 
read that which was spoken unto you by God, saying, I am 
the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of 
Jacob? God is not the God of the dead, but of the living. 

_ For all live unto Him. 

As we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also 
bear the image of the heavenly. 

Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; 
neither doth corruption inherit incorruption. For this cor- 
ruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put 
on immortality. The world passeth away and the lust 
thereof ; but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever. 

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from hence- : 
forth. Yea, saith the Spirit ; that they may rest from their la- 
bors ; and their works do follow them. | 


FUNERAL SERVICES. 39 


They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; 
neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. 

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and 
there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying ; 
neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things 
are passed away. 

And there shall be no night there ; and they need no can- 
dle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them 
light. 


READINGS FROM TENNYSON. 


God gives us love. Something to love 
He lends us; but, when love is grown 

To ripeness, that on which it throve 
Falls off, and love is left alone. 


This is the curse of time. Alas! 
In grief I am not all unlearned ; 

Once through mine own doors Death did pass — 
One went who never hath returned. 


Your loss is rarer; for this star 
Rose with you through a little arc 

Of heaven, nor having wandered far 
Shot on the sudden into dark. 





40 


FUNERAL SERVICES. 


I knew your [husband]: his mute dust — 
I honor, and his living worth ; 

A man more pure and bold and just 
Was never born into the earth. 


Great Nature is more wise than I 
I will not tell you not to weep. 


Neo 


And tho’ mine own eyes fill with dew, 
Drawn from the spirit thro’ the brain, 

I will not even preach to you, 
“Weep! weeping dulls the inward pain.” 


Let grief be her own mistress still. 
She loveth her own anguish deep 
More than much pleasure. Let her will 
Be done, — to weep, or not to weep. 


I will not say “ God’s ordinance 
Of Death is blown in every wind ;” 
For that is not a common chance 
That takes away a noble mind. 


His memory long will live alone 
In all our hearts, as mournful light 








FUNERAL SERVICES. AI 


That broods above the fallen sun, 
And dwells in heaven half the night. 


Vain solace! Memory, standing near, 
Cast down her eyes, and in her throat 

Her voice seemed distant, and a tear 
Dropt on the letters as I wrote. 


I wrote I know not what. In truth, 
How should I soothe you any way, 
Who miss the [husband] of your youth ? 
Yet something I did wish to say ; 


For he too was a friend to me. 

Both are my friends, and my true breast 
Bleedeth for both: yet it may be _ 

That only silence suiteth best. 


Words weaker than your grief would make 
Grief more. *I were better I should cease ; 
Although myself could almost take 
The place of him that sleeps in peace. 


Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace: 
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, 
While the stars burn, the moons increase, 
And the great ages onward roll. 
6 


A2= | FUNERAL SERVICES. 


Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet; 
Nothing comes to thee new or strange. 

Sleep full of rest from head to feet ; 
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. 


REMARKS. 


It hardly seems possible for me to speak one single 
word. I feel as though I were in the wrong place,—as_ 


though I ought to be sitting there with you, silent and © aks 3 


weeping, instead of trying to voice your grief or to com- — 
fort your souls. | 

Death comes to us sometimes without such an aspect 
of mystery and irreconcilable sorrow as accompanies him 
now. When those who have grown old in years, who 
have lived long upon the earth, have wrought their life 
- work, have tasted all the sweets and beauties and glories 
of life, — when such fall asleep, it seems to me to be like 
a tired child sinking to rest in his mother’s arms at night. 
And so a little child, who has not yet learned the sad- 
ness and sorrow of life, who has not learned the sweets 
of life, — when such an one as this falls asleep, escaping, _ 
as we may think, many a burden and care, it seems then 
comparatively easy for us to be reconciled, and we can 
see how it may be consistent with the mercy and good- 
ness and love of our Father in heaven. 








ne Pome cs 
£ ~ r. 


FUNERAL SERVICES. 43 


But to-day there seems over this a mystery so dark 
that I dare not attempt to give its meaning. A young 
man, one who had passed through the special years of 
temptation and trial that all youth must pass ; whose feet 
were lodged firmly on the solid ground of early, honor- 
able, noble manhood; one who had become a son to a 
father and mother who had none other, the husband of a 
tender, loving, and devoted wife, the happy and glad 
father of a bright and beautiful little boy, —that such a 
one as this should be taken away in a moment does not 
necessarily destroy our faith in the government, in the 
love and wisdom, of God; but it does baffle all our ex- 
planations. I, for one, shall not attempt to explain it to- 
day. I know that by and by, in the light of some future 
revelation, possibly we may be able to understand it, and 
see how it is consistent with the faith that we still must 
cling to in our Father and our God. 

And what a loss is it, friends, that we have met! Any 
words I can speak would seem poor, and so utterly in- 
adequate. If I could only give voice at this moment to 
your thoughts, to your loves, to your year-long associa- 
tions, to your precious memories ; if I could only utter 
what you are thinking and feeling, then I should be able, 
indeed, to speak some fitting eulogy. 

It is a deep personal loss to me and to all who knew 


eee eee 1 aod Ged (% » 


44 ? FUNERAL SERVICES. aa 


him. I, for one, wish here to bear my public testimony 
that, having known him quite well and thoroughly, as 5 
think, these several years, I have not been able, as yet, a 
since his death, to think of one spot or flaw in his whole | 
character. It seems to me that his character is like a ~ 
perfect diamond, that flashes out a clear ray of light from — 
every point of contact. I try to think over it, as I have 
known him these five years. I have never had the pleas- 
ure or privilege of meeting one that seemed to me more 
faultless than he; and it was not the faultlessness of a 
negative character, one who seems simply good from 
lack of power, from lack of constitutional vigor, to be 
anything else. But his was a positive, noble, manly 
character all through. I do not know that he had one 
habit, or thought, or speech, or action that the purest and — 
best of mankind could take exception to. In all his rela- r 
tions of life, as a business man, as a personal companion ic 
and friend, as a son, as a brother, as husband and father, 
loyal and pure and true and noblé in every way was 
he. I know that in saying these words, however ex- 
treme in their praise they may sound, I am only voicing 
thoughts to which you are all ready to say a most ear-. 
nest amen. And you who have known him best will 
say these things with the most earnestness and hearti- 
ness. Oh, how we shall miss him! How I shall miss 








FUNERAL SERVICES. 45 


him from church, from the literary class, from the Sun- 


day-school! How the superintendent and teachers and 
members of his class will miss him! And oh what a loss, 
above and beyond all these things, is he to this house- 
hold! I dare not trust myself to give it utterance. 

But just because we can say all these fine and sweet 
and noble things of our friend to-day, because it is a 
memory that is sweet and pleasant, it only makes the 
loss so much the harder to bear. This is one of the sad 
things in losing those we love so dearly. If we had not 
cared so much to keep him, the loss had not been so 
severe ; and yet you would not have had him otherwise, 
and I know that in spite of all the sorrow that comes to 


| your hearts to-day, when you stop to think of it, you will 


be glad and thankful with your whole soul that you 

have been permitted to know him, and that you have 

had him so long, if you could not keep him any longer. 

You are ready to echo this sentiment of the poet, — 

“*T is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved 
at all.” 

_I shall not attempt to offer you any commonplaces of 
consolation to-day. They would seem to me an imper- 
tinence. Nothing that I can say, nothing that any one 
can say, can remove this great fact, — that he has gone 
away from us. 


46 FUNERAL SERVICES. a - : Bi 





Our thoughts to-day are not made bitter by any dread 
or fear of the future. It will not comfort you for me to 4 
tell you he is better off, that he is in heaven, that he is 4 Ry 
in the hands of our Father. You know it all. If there : 
is any heaven, surely a soul like his would go to it as its be 
natural home. Where such men as he is is heaven, in — 
this or any other world, for it is such characters as his 
that make heaven. | 

But this does not comfort you; for the one thing that. 
constitutes the bitterness of death, it seems to me, is the 
sense of personal loss that comes to us. That thing — 
which is hard for you to bear to-day, and which no words 
that I can utter could take away, is the fact that he has 
fallen asleep ; that he will not speak to you any more, 
that he will not open his eyes and give back that look of 
love to which you have been accustomed and been so 
delighted with ; that his lips will not open for one more ~ 
word. It is this which makes the fact of death. ; 

In some high and noble sense he is living still. Men — 
like him do not die. They go away from us, but they 
still live ; and he is living, and will live here in Boston in 
days and weeks and months and years to come. He will - 
never die out of this home so long as this household 
remains. The memory, the image, the inspiration, will ey: 
abide in their hearts forever. He will live in the hearts _ a re 





FUNERAL SERVICES. 47 


of his companions, the young men of our church and 
city that he has become endeared to through these many 
years. He will live in our hearts as an inspiration, a 
power to make us better, to shame us out of anything 
that is low and poor and mean, to give us faith in man- 
hood and faith in God; for when I see and know such 
men as he, then it is I dare to trust in my fellow-man, 
and dare to trust in my Father in heaven. 

‘These words of God that are spoken to us by such 
true lives are to lead us and lift us up and guide us 
through life ; and if he could speak to us to-day one last 
word, beyond the tender sentences of love that he would 
utter to those who were nearest to him, I think he 
would tell us to mourn for him and remember him by 
doing his work; by being ourselves manly, true, noble, 
as he was; by seeing to it that the world is not poorer 
because he has gone away; by taking the things that 
he left that were dear to him and noble in his sight, and 
carrying them on day by day, keeping them close to our 
hearts, and doing what he would have done if he had 
been permitted to stay with us. 

Let us then build him a monument in our hearts, —a 
monument of affection, a monument of reverent mem- 
ories, a monument of aspiration, of love, of devotion to 
goodness ; and let us inscribe on that monument all of 











48 FUNERAL SERVICES. 


good and manly and true that he was, and let him be a j 
an inspiration to make us better than we have been, that 
thus we may find him where he has gone; for, though 
he cannot come to us, it is the one trust and hope and 


consolation of our hearts that some day we may be Pa “ 


mitted to go to him. 


* 


THE PRAYER. 


O Father, Thou knowest how hard it is sometimes 
for us to believe, and to say, “Thy will be done.” It is 
so hard for us to believe that Thou art almighty, able to 
do Thy will, whatever it be ; that Thou art all-wise, never 
making any mistakes; that Thou art all-loving, caring 
for us when we suffer as we care when our children 
are troubled. It is hard to believe and feel these se 
in the midst of a sorrow like this. 

And yet we must believe. To whom but unto Thee 
can we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life, and 
Thou alone; and we will believe, though we cannot see. 
We expect our little children, that play about our feet, — 
to trust us, to have faith in us, even in those things” 
_ where they cannot comprehend what we are doing, or 
why we are doing it. Still we expect them to trust in — 








FUNERAL SERVICES. 49 


us. And we know there are some things we must do 
that we could not explain to them if we would, and they 
can do nothing else but trust. 

We are only little children about the feet of God, and 
we know that it is reasonable for us to suppose that 
Thou doest a great many things that we cannot under- 
stand, and that perhaps, even if Thou shouldst attempt 
it, Thou couldst not make us understand. This great fact 
—the mystery of death —that has been from the first, 
and will be until the end of time, that. touches every 
household some day or other, that touches every heart, 
to-day lays its hand upon us. We are crushed in its 
presence when it comes too nigh, and it seems as though 
we could not bear it. He, our friend, that we love so 
dearly, who was so true and noble, — it seems as though 
we could not have him taken away. And yet Thy word 
has gone forth, and his spirit is called home to Thyself. 
~ Come then, O Father, and though Thou dost not ex- 
plain it, and though we cannot understand it, come with 
Thy sweet patience and consolation and help to these 
hearts that need it so sorely, — to these fathers, mothers, 
this widowed wife in her youth, to the unconscious hap- 
piness of the little one that does not yet understand his 
loss. O Father, come to this home circle, to this imme- 
diate circle of friends, whose hearts are so sad and sore 

7 


50 FUNERAL SERVICES. 





No words of ours are tender enough to comfort them. _ ( 
Our touch is too coarse and rough to be laid upon the es ee 
quivering fibres of their hearts. Soothe and comfort 
them by Thy Spirit. , | ae 

Thou art infinitely tender, and we do believe that this 
love of father and child and wife, that is so tender and 
sacred, is only a slight manifestation of that which is in- 
finite in thine own heart ; and we believe that therefore 
we can lean our heads upon Thy bosom, and feel the 
throbbing of thine infinite affection, and find there com- 
fort and patience and peace. 

Come to us, O Father. Thou knowest ene a sense 
of loss there is in our hearts to-day. Thou knowest 
how empty they seem, and how we shall miss him in our 
social circles, in our personal companionships, in the 
church and Sunday-school, and in all the noble, manly 

relations of life, — Thou knowest how we shall miss 
him. Give us strength, Father, to keep still our trust in 
God; and instead of being crushed and bowed down 
overmuch by the loss, may we have power to be inspired 
by his memory ; may the thought of him enter into our 
hearts as a new consecration and new life in all that is 
noble and manly and true, and so may we seek to make 
good this loss so far as we may. 
And O Father, to-day, as this precious cone is alien : 





FUNERAL SERVICES. 51 


away, as the dust is given back to dust, we beseech thee 
that we may be able to look up and feel that “ He is not 
here, but has risen.’ The place where he sleeps we 
know will be hallowed ground. We shall love to see it 
green with fresh grasses and sweet with flowers, and 
shall feel that all the precious offerings are fitting, when 
consecrated to his memory. 

And yet may we look upward and onward, and believe 
that the place where he still lives and loves us, and still 
labors for God, is more sacred yet. And so may we 
faithfully walk onward in the path of life, believing that 
each step, day by day, brings us nearer and nearer to him. 

As there are nothing but sweet and pleasant memo- 
ries of him, may we earnestly, day by day, seek to live 
so that when our friends gather about us there may be 
nothing to regret, but they may feel that we have fought 
the good fight, and kept the faith, that we have been 
~ noble and true in all our relations in life ; and so may we 
live that death may always find us ready to follow the 
beckoning which will lead us nearer and nearer to Thee. 
And when the night comes to all of us, when we have 
finished our work, and are like tired children when 
evening shadows fall, may we find our footsteps turn- 
ing homeward, and may we recognize the voice of our 
’ Father, and see the door open, welcoming faces looking 








sured that we are going home to our Father an 
loved ones that have bs with us here and. will pe 
us forever. 

And now may the grace, .the love, the sustain 
strength, and the comfort of our Father in heaven ; 
and abide with each one of us forever. Amen. 





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PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 





LETTERS FROM FRIENDS. 


YARMOUTH PorT, Fly 12, 1879. 
Rev. V. LINCOLN. 


My dear Sir: The recent sudden death of your dearly beloved 
son ‘‘Charlie” calls to my mind some recollections of his boy- 
hood, when he came from the school into my store, and during 
the time he continued with me as clerk. And while I express my 
most heartfelt sympathy, and would shed a tear of sorrow with 
you and your afflicted family in your severe and dreadful loss, 
which must have come upon you so sudden and unexpected, I de- 
sire to bear testimony to his worth and promise in those younger 
years, which have so well ripened and developed into a mature and 
useful life. To say he was a good boy, and that I liked him, does 
not half express what I feel, and what I remember of his good 
qualities. He possessed a nobleness of character seen in few at 
that age of life. He had an excellent disposition, always pleasant, 
perfectly reliable and faithful in all his dealings, gentlemanly and 


business-like in his manners, careful of my interest, and at the 


same time just to all. His aim was to succeed in what he under- 
took; but to do right was his unfailing purpose in all his business 


BA PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 





transactions. In a word, he possessed all those qualities which  _ 


were sure to, and did, gain for him the respect and esteem of all 
who knew him ; and for these reasons I shall always hold him in 
pleasant remembrance. | i 
Tis a dark and mysterious Providence, to be understood only 
in the great future, which has deprived you of a dearly beloved 
son, and the community of a noble and honored citizen, leaving a 
void hard to be filled. .... With great respect, I am, dear sir, 
yours most truly, JAMES B. CROCKER. 


WAREHAM, July 28, 1879. 
Rev. Mr. LINCOLN. . . % ae 
My dear Sir: It gives me great pleasure to hear that you are 
intending to write a memorial of your dear Charles. _ | 
If I can contribute anything, I would most gladly do so. I have 
been acquainted with your son about ten years, and I never 
formed an acquaintance with any young man I so highly esteemed, 
and whose.death I so deeply mourn, outside my own family. In 
all my acquaintance with him I never heard him express an idea 
or utter a word which was not proper to say in any company. He 
was ever affable, courteous, cheerful, and instructive. I always took 
pleasure in his company. A few years ago he induced me to go 
to the mountains with him, which was a very enjoyable trip to me, 
and I shall never forget it. He was so unselfish, always anticipat- 
ing my wants and studying to make it pleasant for me; even giv- 
ing up to me the best room, which he had previously engaged for 
his own comfort. If I expostulated, it made no difference; he 
would do it. At that time I found him to bea reader of the Bible, 
and he did not neglect prayer. He was a great admirer of nature 








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PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 55 


and it seemed to inspire him. With this inspiration I doubt not 
he looked up through nature to nature’s God. I remember at that 
time alluded to he engaged a carriage to take us to Northumber- 
land. The driver was a silly fellow, spent almost every moment 
of the hour and a half telling stories and singing silly songs, to 
which he received no response from us ; and as he left us at the de- 
pot Charlie remarked to me, ‘‘ How hard that fellow tried to enter- 
tain us!” He sanctioned nothing that was low or degrading. He 
once said to me, in reference to buying a paper in the car, “I do 
not blame you, as you did not know what the paper was, but those 
who saw you, not knowing you, would judge of you by that paper. 
Whenever we do a wrong thing knowingly, it has this tendency, 
to say the least, it lowers ourselves in our own estimation.” 
Although on some points Charlie and myself differed, yet I be- 
lieve he was a Christian, and that he is now in that ‘ mansion 
prepared for those who love God.” I shall ever hold him in tender 
remembrance. It is a mysterious Providence, yet our Heavenly 
Father makes no mistakes, but “ doeth all things well.’ Respect- 
fully yours, with heartfelt sympathy, P. N. BopFIsH. 


Boston, September 15, 1879. 
Mr. VARNUM LINCOLN. 


Dear Friend: In answer to your favor received, would I now, 
as you desire, cast “one flower upon Charlie’s grave,” —a grave 
that will not be forgotten by his many friends, who held him in 
such high esteem for his noble character and manly virtues. 

As my thoughts run back over the past, he comes up clearly to 
my mind in the various relations we have held together, in the 
church, Sunday-school, Young Men’s Christian Union, and in the 


Aes Te ee 
hcp se 


56 PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 





sweet friendships of his home and family, and my own. In all 2 fs a: 


these relations I ever found in him that decided, firm, sterling vs 
character, which claimed for him the respect and love from those _ 
who had the pleasure of an acquaintance with him. ee 

His character was not passive, but clear, decided, with firm prin- 
ciples governing him in his business and social relations, with pos- 
itive convictions as to his duty to God, to society, and to those 
who were dear to him in his home, and to other kindred and 
friends. Such a character we may well admire, and hold up as an 
example and inspiration to the young as an incentive to me 
and profitable lives. 

As influence for good or evil always outlasts the individual, 
what sweet satisfaction it must be to his kindred and friends to 
reflect upon the fact that his influence upon all around him was 
elevating, healthful, and pure. Yours very truly, . 

WILLIAM H. BALDWIN, 


BosTon, August 19, 1879. 


. My acquaintance with Charles T. Lincoln commenced 
at the Boston Young Men’s Christian Union. We were members 
at the time of the first gymnastic class formed nee r think in | 
the fall or winter of 1868. 

An intimacy soon sprung up, which was never broken in the 
eleven years following. 

His amiability and control of himself were remarkable, with 
never an abatement of principle. Whatever he saw to be right 
he did, and anything undertaken by him was accomplished. He 
had great concentration and tenacity of purpose, though ever open 
to view all sides of questions. 





PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 57 


In all his business relations he was entirely and thoroughly 
trustworthy, believing the confidence of those with whom he was 
dealing to be of more importance than the forcing of a bargain. 
He was also an unusually good salesman, and remarkably suc- 
cessful. 

Though never abandoning a principle he deemed to be right, he 
never forced his views to the point of irritating opposition, and 
was ever just and lenient to the opinions of others, knowing that 
it was not in the nature of things for all to think alike. 

His friendship was a boon to any who were privileged to enjoy it. 

The most kind, loving, and tender care was lavished on those 
who were fortunate enough to win his regard. It was a positive 
pleasure to him to anticipate their wants. Christmas was always 
a ‘joyous season” with him, for he could then put his friendship 
into those various gifts that were always chosen with the view of 
giving the most pleasure. The more he gave, the more he “ en- 
joyed it,” as he himself remarked. 

His faith in God was a real and positive one, and, as I have often 
said, was a truly trusting and “ perfect’? one. He was conscien- 
tious and prayerful, though he did nothing ostentatiously, to be 
seen of men. His faith was not worn for outside show, but was 
veritably a part of his life. 

Altogether his life and character were more nearly perfect than 
those of any person I ever knew, for he united the untiring en- 
ergy of the successful young business man, with the gentle charac- 
ter of a thoroughly Christian life. 

Patient, thoughtful, loving, forgiving, his whole life was bright 
and joyous, and cheerfulness was a vital principle. Nothing could 
daunt him, and I never knew him to be discouraged, for he never 

8 


38 PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 


would give up. He thoroughly believed that whatever happened ~ 
was for the best; that “everything was ordained aright,” and 
“worked together for good.” 
His aim, in a word, was to possess and practice the virtues of a 
Christian and the graces of agentleman. | GEORGE PIERCE. 


LITTLETON, N. H., September 1, 1879. 
REv. Mr. LINCOLN. ee 


Dear Sir: .... From my first acquaintance with Charlie 
everything has been pleasant between us. He has shown himself 
aman, in every sense of the word. I have always found him true 
to his word, ever ready and willing to stand for the right. And 
never has he faltered or shrunk from any work or duty which has 
devolved upon him. All the customers to whom Charlie sold our 
goods have sent their testimony, and have written how deeply 
they feel his loss. He had won a place in my heart which made 
him very near tome. And every day I feel to such an extent his 
loss that I cannot express it in words. And when I think of his 
noble acts and his uprightness of conduct, I can hardly keep back 
the tears from my eyes, to realize that I shall see him no more in 
the flesh. He was always as sunshine in my home, for all were 
made happy by his being with them. He worked hard to build up 
a business here, in which he took a deep interest. And I trust his — 
good works in this respect will ever stand, and be so prospered 
that they may assist to perpetuate his memory so long as time 
shall last. I remember speaking with him, on one occasion, in 
regard to paying our sewing-machine girls for their work. He 
wanted me, he said, to pay them we//, so they could make good 
wages. He remarked that he would rather have his profits less, 











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PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 59 


and have them well paid for their work. In conversation with 
him, he has often told me that he did not wish to make money to 
lay by and hoard up, but that he-could see many goed and useful 
deeds to be performed with it. 

His nature was high and noble, and I always felt better myself, 
as though I had been improved in character, by being in his com- 
pany. Many are the friends he has made in this place, and since 
his death they have come to me with tears in their eyes, saying, 
“How sad; he was sucha splendid man!” All our help feel as 
though they had lost a near friend. And I inclose a few letters, 
received from those who have worked for us and knew him well, 
and also from customers to whom he sold our goods. You will see 
that Charlie made friends in every place and family where he went, 
as well as at home. We all claim him as ours, and mourn his loss 
equally with those who are his nearest kindred. .... 

Yours very truly, IRA PARKER. 


PROVINCETOWN, Fly 13, 1879. 
Rev. Mr. LINCOLN. 

Dear Sir: .... Yes, “dear Charlie’? was indeed suddenly 
called. I can hardly realize it. 

The last time I saw him, when I said “ good-by,” was at the 
Andover station, on our way down from Littleton, where he left 
me to visit his father, mother, and sister. I had a very pleasant 
trip with him, which will always be remembered, and which I 
somehow feel was not altogether accidental. It was not antici- 
pated on my part, but I most quickly responded to his invitation. 

Charlie was always in good spirits, but unusually so on this oc- 
casion. He had left all well at home, had recently returned from 


— 60 PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 


_ which he has now entered, which used up our time very pleasantly, 





his Western trip, and had met with very good success. He found — 


all going nicely at the factory, Mr. Parker glad to see him and» ei a 


in excellent mood, wanting “Charlie” omnipresent, as it were. 


Everything, suffice to say, was “just right.” On our way down, 
if s Me J gS » ae 


almost our last conversation was in reference to that life upon 


and, I trust, profitably. Let me say just here that in speculating 
on many things relative to a continuation of life and progression 
after death, his thoughts were very interesting and instructive, and 
if he was not exactly in sympathy with one’s peculiar ideas he 
always manifested charity and patience, condemning no one for 
his honest convictions. I have been acquainted with “ Charlie ” 
about ten years. I knew him first as salesman, being in trade; 
met with him often, which led to more than mere business rela- 
tion ; afterwards our home was his home, when in this vicinity. 
We always anticipated his coming with a great deal of pleasure. 
Our kindness towards him he returned in many generous ways. 
I certainly hope to see you and talk with you, having many things 


to say. 
But we should be comforted by the thought that ‘‘ our loss is 
his gain.” 
With regards to all, I remain as ever, 


Yours respectfully, AMASA SMITH. 


WAREHAM, MAss., October 10, 1879. 
Mr. LINCOLN. 


My Dear Sir; .... 1 very gladly avail myself of your kind- 
ness to add one leaf to the wreath which shall garland the brow, 
and keep ever green in memory the many virtues, of my dear 





. 


PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 61 


friend Charlie. Our acquaintance ripened early in a firm and last- 
ing friendship. His business habits were my model; his social 
life my pride ; his moral and religious character were such as at- 
tracted and won my esteem. In the correspondence which it 
was my pleasure to have with him I learned his noble spirit and 
elevated views of life. In one of his letters, he speaks of a dear 
friend of ours, who, young in years, was afflicted with, as was sup- 
posed, an incurable disease. Charlie, speaking of him, says, ‘ His 
has been a noble life, and though he should be cut off in the 
midst of his usefulness, he seems to me to have done more good 
than thousands who die of old age;” and, with the prayer that his 
own life might be crowned with as many good deeds,” he adds, 
“We must fight the good fight, win the victory; for what does the 
Lord require but to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before 
Him?” Inthe spirit and to the letter of these to me precious 
words, your dear boy and my dear friend lived and died, pos- 
sessed_of all the manly traits of character and strong religious 
conviction for the right, living for a grand purpose and an unself- 
ish end. The memory of him can but have a holy influence, 
helping us all to lead nobler and purer lives, lives of unselfish love, 
and an active ministry for the welfare of others, as did he. ‘Truly 
can it be said of him, 


“ None knew him but to love him, 
None named him but to praise.” 


I am yours in love and sympathy, HERBERT RANDALL. 


62 PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 


YARMOUTH PoRT, June 25, tie: - 
My DEAR Mr. AND Mrs. LINCOLN: _ | 


‘I have taken up my pen to do what I have for screen RA dist > 
layed, from the fact that I-feel utterly incapable of saying one 
word of comfort to you whose hearts are broken by the sad event 
which has recently and so suddenly visited you. 

I wish I might take you by the hand and express my 7 eareer 
sympathy, which I feel so unable to do in writing. Not only my- 
self and those of our household, but the community, and espe- 
cially those who knew you most intimately, cannot speak of the sad 
event without tears in their eyes. : 

But after all that can be said and done, the fact remains that 
your dear Charlie is gone from your sight, till you are called to 
-meet him “beyond the river.” In his place is left the sweet 
memory of his noble, generous, and well-spent life, and all that 
made him such a good and worthy son. Yet the very fact that he 
was so good makes your loss the harder to bear..... With much 
love, I am your sincere friend, CLARA. 


YARMOUTH Port, July 13th. 
DEAR MR. AND Mrs. LINCOLN : : . 

Thanks for the paper containing the account of the funeral serv- 
ices of your dear son Charlie. I saw by the Boston papers a 
notice of his death, and afterwards the particulars of the acci- 
dent. It was, indeed, very, very sad. My heart aches for you all. 
I have deferred writing, as I did not wish to crowd upon your 
feelings at a time when your sorrows were too fresh to permit of 
outside sympathy. Neither will I attempt to offer words of con- 
solation. To Him who hath taken remains the power to give. 








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PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 63 


But, at the same time, I would give you my heartfelt sympathy 
and love. 
It always seems hard that we are so powerless to help our 


friends in their greatest sorrow. God’s ways are truly mysterious, 


and the pathway of life seems sometimes so hard that we feel like 
lying down in despair, but with renewed struggle strength comes 
again. 

I ask myself, Is it a dream, or is it reality, that he has gone 
from us? It seems but a few days since I saw him in his accus- 
tomed seat at church, full of life and hope. He was a noble man 
and a dear, good son; his death to you all must be indescribably 


sad. While it is in some respects harder to mss a good life, it is 


beautiful to know that you have Zad the living influence about you, 
and we all find much more happiness in thinking of such a life 
than if we had much to regret in the character of one that has 
gone from us..... M. J. M. 


ANDOVER, July 17, 1879. 

My pDEAR Miss Myrick: .... Your kind remembrance of us 
in our distressing bereavement and your words of love and sym- 
pathy were very welcome to us all. Expressions of tender inter- 
est are always full of strength and comfort, but coming from one 
who had known our dear son Charlie so long, they are especially 
valuable, because, acquainted with him as you have been, you 
knew much of his character and life, and can therefore all the 
better appreciate our great loss. And yet, as well as you knew 
him, and as highly as his friends generally esteemed him, they 
little knew what he was to us, to his home, and to those who were 
best acquainted with his deeper thought and inmost life. With 


64. PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 


very sad hearts, yet in all truth, we can say that he was the best 
and noblest of sons, the dearest of brothers. He was loved, indeed 
almost worshiped, by us all. And if I had time to tell you of all 


his acts of love and kindness; how dutiful and faithful as a son, ~ 
from his early boyhood ; how warm and glad he made our hearts 
by his frequent visits ; how always hopeful and sunny his spirit ; 


how inflexible his integrity ; how spotless his whole life, in word, 
deed, and habit ; how mature and clear his mind, for one so young, 
in matters of business, and on questions of public interest; and 
how every year the manly qualities of his nature seemed to develop 
more and more, you would not wonder we loved him so well, or 
that he was worthy of it all. And when I ‘seriously realize (for 


sometimes I can hardly do so) that this, our dear, good boy, has 


gone forever from our earthly sight,—gone in the bloom and 
strength of young manhood, with such large hopes and brilliant 
prospects, and with such a bright promise of usefulness, — that 
we are never again to receive his warm greeting, see his manly 
form, nor enjoy his pleasant companionship, my very heart bleeds 
with inexpressible anguish; my tongue’is dumb at the strange, per- 
plexing questions which such a sad fact suggests; an impenetra- 
ble cloud lies along the horizon of the future, and everything in 
life and the world takes on a sombre hue, and wears an aspect 
of terrible loneliness. We feel that the beautiful staff on which 
we had leaned is broken, and that we must now grope our way 
towards the sunset among the shadows. And oh, how dense, 
cold, and misty, they seem! . . . . The why and wherefore of this 
great sorrow none of us cantell. To relinquish our confidence in 
an infinitely good and gracious Being, who watches over and 
wisely controls all things, would indeed be a greater calamity 





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PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 65 


than the loss of dearest friends. And all we can do is to trust in 
this Being, and wait for the coming morning of the eternal day to 
show us more light. All the comfort we now have is the knowl- 
edge of Charlie’s fair and noble life, the remembrance of what he 
was to us and to others, and the blessed hope of clasping hands 
in the immortal home. It is hard to believe that such a light has 
gone out in utter darkness, and we cannot but feel that it has 
met and mingled with heaven’s own glory, to shine with increas- 
ing brightness through the years eternal. 

Some time, some of us hope to be able to accept your kind invi- 
tation to visit you at your home, where in other days we have met 
so often and enjoyed so much. For many reasons, old Yarmouth 
will long be dear to memory. But now, since it was the home of 
Charlie’s boyhood, it will be cherished by us with a more sacred 
interest than ever. He never forgot his Yarmouth friends, either 
young or old. He often inquired after them, with the interest of 
strong and lasting friendship. And the church on the hill, where 
he often sat with his mother, brothers, and sisters in the pastor’s 
pew; the school-house beyond, where he conned his lessons, and 
enjoyed so often the delightful view of cape and bay; the old 
wharf and mill at the creek, where he went to fish and bathe ; the 
ancient house, where he lived with his parents ; the store, near by, 
where he spent three years in the service of Captain Crocker, — all 
these places and scenes, and others in connection with his life in 
that beautiful village, were very dear to him. He loved to speak 
of them, and of the many pleasant things associated with them. 
And I know you will not think it strange that, as I write of them, 
and remember all about him in our home there, the tears will come 
to my eyes, in spite of myself. .... 

Most sadly and sincerely yours, VARNUM LINCOLN. 
9 


66 PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 


CINCINNATI, Fly 3, 1879. 
Mrs. FrAncis T. CHurcH, Boston, Mass. hae 
My Dear Friends : My heart is full of sympathy for you all. 
I do earnestly long to say something that may comfort you all at 
this time. But words fail me. I can, however, truly say he was 
a good and noble man, such an one as God always takes to Him- 
self, for he was ripe for the kingdom of heaven. I know how you 
all must miss him in that loved household, particularly that young 
mother and boy. How much he talked of him when we saw him, 
which was the spring after dear Carrie’s death! Oh, how much he 
missed her! His visit seemed so sad, as it reminded us of our 
loss. We all spoke of it after he left. Submit is the only thing 
we can do when these great blows strike us. It is indeed hard to 
do so, under such a heavy affliction, as we cannot see why his use- 
fulness in this world was not needed, when others are spared, 
whose lives are miserable to themselves and others. But our 
Heavenly Father knows what is best for usall..... HAG. 


DUBUQUE, Iowa, Fune 26, 1879. 
Mrs. CHARLES T. LINCOLN. 

Dear Madam: We were shocked to hear through your hus- 
band’s firm of his sudden death. There is nothing we can say or 
do to mitigate your grief. Our short acquaintance with Mr. Lin- 
coln had ripened into a strong personal friendship, a feeling which 
business men do not often have for each other. But his manly bear- 
ing, honor, and candor, in all his acquaintance with us, were the 
secrets by which he made us his friends. We deeply sympathize 
with you in the loss you have sustained, and trust that his char- 








PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 67 


acter may in future years be a legacy to his young child who re- 

mains; that it may also make a man of him, — one of whom his 

mother may be proud to say, He has his father’s virtues. Although 

unknown to you we are, Your Friends, 
: H. B. GLover & Co. 


MILWAUKEE, June 19, 1879. 
Messrs. IRA PARKER & Co. 


Gentlemen : We were very much pained and shocked to hear 
of the sudden and sad death of Mr. Lincoln. 

Out of the large number of men with whom we came in con- 
tact, we never found any one with whom our business relations 
were so pleasant and agreeable as with Mr. Lincoln. 

We deeply regret the calamity which deprived him of his life, 
and hasten to offer to you, and also to his afflicted family, our sin- 
cere condolence. Yours very truly, CHAS. STEIN & Co. 


NEW YORK, Fune 18, 1879. 
MEssrs. IRA PARKER & Co. 


Gentlemen; I am in receipt of your valued favor of the 16th 
inst. Your information about Mr. Lincoln is indeed sad, and im- 
presses us almost as forcibly as it does you. It seems so impos- 
sible that only a few weeks ago Mr. Lincoln was here, full of life 
and health, and now he is ‘no more. Our acquaintance with him 
was only short, but long enough to show him to be a gentleman in 
every sense of the word. We admit the incompetency of our 
writing words of sympathy, but beg you to acccept our hearty con- 
dolence in your great misfortune. _ Very truly yours, 

A. H. WARD. 


68 PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 


FLORENCE, MAss, une 28, 1879. 


Friend Parker: .... Mr. Atkins has forwarded to me the 
copy of the “ White Mountain Republic” which you sent, contain- 
ing an account of Mr. Lincoln’s death. I had read the sad intel- 
ligence in other papers. But this account is more complete, and 
gives particulars which I was anxious to know. My acquaintance 
with Mr. Lincoln was limited; but I can fully appreciate the re- 
view which the.“ Journal’. gives of his character, which seems to 
me comprised all the qualities of a true “man.” 

Having taken a great liking to him, the sad news of his un- 
timely death brings sorrow to me, and I can sympathize with those 
who, from family ties and business and social relations, will mourn 
his loss. I hope that this calamity, following so close upon the 
other, will not discourage, but that you will be able to obtain a 
worthy successor to Mr. Lincoln, to enable you to continue a busi- 
ness so successfully begun. Yours, GEORGE T. CUTLER. 


NEw York, Fune 18, 1879. 
Messrs. IRA PARKER & Co. » Ju 9 


Dear Sirs; .... We are extremely sorry to hear of the sad 
and most untimely demise of our friend Mr. Lincoln. Although 
our business with him was limited, it promised much for the future, 
and in our intercourse with him, which was always very pleasant, 
we learned to know and respect him as a generous and open-hearted 
business man and a thorough gentleman. We offer you our sin- 
cere regrets at so great a loss, and remain, 

Yours very truly, 
JOSEPH ULLMAN & Co. 








PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 69. 


ee NEw YorK, September 21, 1879. 
To Mr. IRA. PARKER: 


° e e e e e e e 


‘Mr. Lincoln was one of the noblest, purest, and best men I ever 
knew. His acquaintance and friendship were a pleasure and an 
honor; and none who knew him could hear of his sudden death 
without a deep sense of grief and personal loss..... 

Yours very truly, _ Joun D. PADDOCK. _ 


f BROOKLYN, June 17, 1879. 


Dear Mrs. Church: .... It was a privilege to know him. 
And I am sure he impressed every one who met him with the 
power of his vigorous manhood, so grand, pure, and true was 


it: ee 8 @ 
I. M. S, 









AS GOD WILL. 


his EERE oe 


Ir I were told that I must die to-morrow, 
That the next sun es 

Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow ve 
For any one, 

All the fight fought, and all the journey areca 
What should I do? Tg 


I do not think that I should shrink or falter, 
But just go on, 

Doing my work, nor change, nor seek to alter, 
Aught that is gone ; 

But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and pray, __ 
For one more day. y 


And, lying down at night for a last sleeping, 
Say in that ear 
Which hearkens ever, “ Lord, within thy ma 
How should I fear? 
And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still 
Do Thou thy will.” 





AS GOD WILL. 71 


I might not sleep, for awe ; but peaceful, tender, 
My soul would lie 

All the night long; and when the morning splendor 
Flashed o’er the sky 

I think that I could smile, could calmly say, 
“It is his day.” 


But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder 
Held out a scroll, 

On which my life was writ, and I with wonder 
Beheld unroll 

To a long century’s end its mystic clew, 
What should I do? 


What could I do, O bless’d Guide and Master, 
Other than this, — 

Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 
Nor fear to miss 

The road, although so very long it be, 
While led by Thee ? 


Step by step, feeling Thou art close beside me, 
Although unseen ; . 

Through thorns, through flowers, whether tempest hide Thee 
Or heavens serene ; 

Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray, 
Nor love decay. 


72 


AS GOD WILL. 


I may not know my God; no hand revealeth 
Thy counsels wise ; 

Along the path no deepening shadow stealeth ; 
No voice replies 

To all my questioning thoughts the time to tell, 
And it is well. 


Let me keep on abiding and unfearing 
Thy will always, 


Through a long century’s ripe fruition, 


Or a short day’s. 
Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait ' 
If thou come late. 




















~ 


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